Rip

by Rachel Van Dyken

He didn’t answer, just sat at his desk, still eying the coffee, like he was afraid to drink it.

  “I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re wondering.” I turned back to my work and continued reading through the thick folder of case studies and patients when I felt him.

  I glanced up into hypnotic brown eyes. “Yes?”

  Nikolai held out his coffee. “It’s cold.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “I made coffee for you to be nice not because it’s my job.”

  “Right.” He full on grinned this time. “But things always taste better when someone else makes them.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you just don’t want to press a button?”

  “I strained my finger last night.”

  “Highly doubt that.”

  Shadows lingered beneath his eyes. And for some reason, I felt guilty. It was just a cup of coffee, and it wasn’t worth arguing over. I gracefully stood, grabbed his coffee and went over to the Keurig to make another.

  By three in the afternoon I’d had five coffees, Nikolai had drank the one I made him then left in a hurry, speaking in hushed tones into his phone. I stood when he left, meaning to ask him what else I was supposed to do but he gave me a warning stare that chilled me to the core.

  I nearly fell out of my chair trying to sit back down then stared at the computer screen until my eyes started to blur.

  At lunch time his secretary brought in a Wendy’s bag with a hamburger and fries with a vanilla frosty.

  Groaning in pleasure, I went for the ice-cream first. Funny because I’d always hated anything cold. Ice cream had made me cry as a child but once I hit high school I couldn’t get enough of it.

  Every single time I had a test in school, I had to have ice cream first; otherwise I was anxious.

  When I graduated, I celebrated with more ice cream.

  It was an addiction I couldn’t quit; one that, when I thought about cutting out sugar or dairy to lose weight, actually caused full on panic attacks, like I would somehow die without it. Which was too stupid for words, but there it was. My one vice.

  “Break time,” a deep male voice said from the door. I looked up to see Nikolai holding his own Wendy’s bag.

  “Cute.” I rolled my eyes and pushed away from the desk. “I thought you hated Wendy’s.”

  “Yeah, well,” His grin was smug. “Thought it would make you smile after staring at the computer screen for hours on end.” His eyes darted to the milkshake. “You’re eating dessert first?”

  “Yup.” I licked the spoon “Think of it as a stress reliever after such a long day, you’re lucky you got the flavor right.”

  Something dark passed over his face before he shrugged and started digging into his own bag, pulling out a fry. “You seem more vanilla than chocolate.”

  My entire body went numb and heavy. “Excuse me?”

  “Vanilla.” The way he said it had my eyes blurring like some sort of spell was being cast into the air in front of me.

  “I,” My arms started stinging. Slowly, I looked down at my wrists, nothing was there except for the scars from the car accident I’d been in at sixteen.

  “So,” He was still talking, but his voice had changed, into something hypnotic, soft, seductive, painfully commanding. “Vanilla, has it always been your favorite?”

  “My favorite.” I repeated, blinking up at him through lowered lashes.

  “Yes.” Nikolai leaned forward, tilting his head to the side. “You’re favorite ice cream.”

  My hands twitched, and then I cracked my knuckles, a nervous habit and he was making me feel… nervous, unsettled, like I’d just been drugged.

  “Yes.” I finally answered.

  Nikolai nodded. “Butterscotch.”

  My blurry vision cleared.

  “I’ve always been a sucker for butterscotch but they only have it at select places and since you were so keen on Wendy’s.” His smile was easy.

  And just like that, I felt like I was normal again, back in my own body. I could count on my hand how many times I’d felt that way in my life, always during simple conversations, and always with my father.

  Unnerved, I stood and started packing away my food.

  “Is something wrong?” Nikolai’s voice was concerned but something about the rigid way he was sitting rubbed me the wrong way.

  “Yes. No.” I shook my head, my gaze falling to his left hand.

  The black sickle tattoo mocked me.

  “Tell me,” I pointed to his tattoo. “Does it bother you that he marks you too?”

  “Pardon?” Nikola’s jaw clenched as he stood.

  “My father. Does it bother you that he marks you as well?”

  “He touched you?” Nikolai’s brown eyes were crazed. “Maya… don’t lie to me. Did he touch you? Ever?”

  “Not where anyone would see,” I finally said. “And sometimes, those are the worst kinds of pain, don’t you think? The scars you can’t prove are usually the ones that hurt the most.”

  “Maya—”

  “I uh…” Suddenly feeling nauseated, I stumbled back. “I need to take a longer break. Is that okay?”

  “Of course.” Nikolai walked me to the door. “Why don’t you go for a walk and grab another coffee?”

  “Hah!” I nodded. “Maybe it’s the caffeine that did it to me in the first place?”

  “Did what?” He asked.

  I popped my knuckles and lied. “Nothing.”

  I settled myself in front of the office computer again. After going for a half hour walk and grabbing a coffee, I felt seriously better, finally able to pour all my nervous energy into something. Though honestly, the fact that my dad’s mark was on Nikolai’s skin, didn’t sit well with me. Turned my stomach, in fact. I hadn’t been unaware of their loose association, but seeing that mark was a bleak reminder that caution was in order.

  I had to wonder, if I couldn’t give Nikolai whatever he wanted from me—because I couldn’t for a second believe he was offering me a job out of the goodness of his heart—would he kill me? Or hand me back to the father who sold me in the first place?

  Would I turn into one of the desperate girls with soulless eyes that went to his clinics at night?

  Suddenly things started clicking into place.

  The men outside the door were body guards.

  The girls… I’d already guessed they were prostitutes, I must have been right.

  I knew my dad owned several businesses, many of them… shady. Did he operate a prostitution ring? A chill ran the length of my spine. Did Nikolai help him?

  Right. No questions.

  It was hard to focus on the computer when my mind was coming up with all sorts of possibilities, and my head hurt from trying to put two and two together, because nothing was adding up. Nothing.

  “Maya?” Nikolai entered the office, his face void of emotion as usual. “How has your first official day on the job been?”

  Strange. Odd. Freaky. “Good. Not what I expected,” I lied.

  “It’s a trade.” He sat and leaned back against the leather chair, one of two in my office. My eyes searched his perfect face, his pristine clothes, looking for anything that would even hint of him working for my father in a more... violent manner. Most of the men I’d met who worked alongside my father were large stout men, men who you wouldn’t see in the ring at a UFC fight, more like the ones reffing it, and he never had bloody knuckles, black eyes in the tabloids. I shivered. He was a doctor for crying out loud. Was I seriously trying to find hints that he was a contract killer?

  “You work for me during the day, I give you everything you could possibly need to not only finish your thesis but become world renowned and you help me… at night.”

  I snorted and changed the subject away from me. “Right, I help you help… other women at night? Is that what we’re going to call it?”

  “What I do at night makes it so you’re able to sit your nice ass down in this office and actually conduct research,” he snapped, yet again rem
inding me who held the power to my future.

  “Fine.” I held up my hands. “I don’t need to know what you do with those women behind closed doors—really I don’t.”

  “You’re right.” He sighed, eyes flashing with remorse. “Things wouldn’t go well if you did. Think of it as me protecting you.”

  “Protecting me?” I parroted. “From… you and your weird nighttime job?”

  “From the world.” He shrugged. “From the ugly.”

  “Too late, I’ve been exposed to the ugly for far too long… I’m jaded.”

  “Not this jaded.” His face paled. “Believe me.”

  His hands began to shake. Abruptly he stood and started pacing in front of me.

  I leaned closer, watching his erratic movements wondering if he was going to turn back into the condescending ass he’d been before. “Have I earned Internet yet?”

  “Hell, no.” He barked out a laugh, and it transformed his face from indifferent to beautiful. I tried to keep my body from physically responding to the perfection. It was damn near impossible. “But nice try.”

  I purposely looked away.

  “Dinner,” he blurted. “Tonight, I’ll take you to dinner after—”

  “After.” I repeated. “After we finish at the Pier?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t glance back at me; instead hightailed it toward the door and shouted over his shoulder. “Remember to keep wearing black, wouldn’t want anything to get on your clothes.”

  “Because there’s always a high risk of blood stains while sitting at a desk,” I fired back.

  His hands braced the doorframe. “What did you say?”

  “Er, blood stains? I was making a joke, you know… doctor’s office?”

  He hung his head, then with a curse, walked out of the room.

  By the time it was five, I was ready to call it a day, too bad I didn’t have that luxury. Nikolai specifically said I needed to be ready right after work.

  Busy night.

  That’s all the text said.

  If he didn’t feed me I was going to cut him.

  The man that is full cannot understand the man that is hungry.—Russian Proverb

  THE DRIVE TO THE PIER WAS tense. I blamed myself. My thoughts were scattered all over the place. Petrov had sent me a text earlier that morning with the words RIP over a picture of Andi.

  I almost lost my shit, drove over to his house with a bomb in my car and just… ended things, not caring if there were women, children, cats, dogs, or parakeets within the vicinity, but needing to prove a point. I would not, could not, stand him disrespecting family or friends.

  And to disrespect or mock her memory?

  My blood ran cold.

  Guilt and anger, my constant companions, choked the life from me. Andi was the only reason I had a conscience. After I brainwashed my first victim, we went out to get ice cream with her father as if nothing had happened. At sixteen I was already better than most of the men he’d used, and I was desperate, so desperate for money to go to college.

  I would have done anything for him.

  Anything to be able to afford the textbooks because regardless of the schools I went to, I still needed money to live, and I was an orphan.

  He’d sought me out.

  At twelve.

  My father had been his Kassir, basically helping him cook the books. When, Petrov, in a fit of rage killed him and my mother, it was me who was left to fix the books, pick up the pieces, and walk away.

  Only, Petrov gave me no option in the matter, and Jac had been oblivious to what was going on, had no idea that my father was so deeply involved. Maybe it had been his own sick way of trying to establish himself outside of our dark family legacy. I didn’t blame him, anything was better than where I came from—anything. Even Petrov.

  “Eat!” Andi had instructed, her eyes darting between me and her father. Already she was in deep with the FBI having been “adopted” by one of the directors after he and his wife couldn’t have children. What a joke.

  I’d picked vanilla ice cream because it was white and a reminder that things would not always be stained with blood. One day, blood would resemble salvation instead of death.

  She’d picked butterscotch.

  Stupid, that at the time, it made complete and total sense to use those two flavors as trigger words.

  Maya sighed loudly and tried to switch the music, I lightly slapped her hand away as I pulled into my usual parking spot.

  Where Andi was light, Maya was dark, the outline of her eyes was hypnotic, captivating, making the green of her irises look so huge it almost looked animated, fake.

  Her long dark hair was pulled into a low bun.

  Spending time with her was like purposefully cutting myself only to watch the blood pool at my feet in wonder. I had to protect her but by doing so, I was allowing her to be with the only person more dangerous than her father.

  Myself.

  The click-clack of Maya’s heels was a welcome distraction from my thoughts as we made our way into the office.

  Jac was waiting inside, her leather bomber jacket fitting tightly around her body. Her trademark cowboy books shimmered in the light.

  Her mood was greatly improved from the last I’d seen her, meaning things must have been going well. And if they were going well, it meant she wouldn’t be pestering me about taking up the family business. Blood on both sides, wasn’t I lucky?

  “Jac!” I held out my hands to her “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you.” She kissed my cheek then patted my other with her hand as her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?

  “I sleep.” Clearly a lie. One of my best friends was dead, Petrov was waiting for me to fail so he could kill his only remaining daughter, whom I had to keep my hands off, not only because of the damn contract, but because anything could trigger her past, and the last thing I needed was for her to remember.

  For her sake, not mine.

  Jac bit out a curse. “These nights are getting to you, I know they are. Your grandpa would—”

  “—be pleased,” I interrupted, irritated she was bringing up my grandfather in front of Maya. “Wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes.” She nodded and patted my cheek again, this time tapping her finger against my jaw meaning she wanted to speak to me later. “He’d be proud to call you his grandson, rest his soul.”

  I glared.

  While Jac simply shrugged.

  “You have two new ones this evening, Nikolai.” Jac said, changing the subject. “They aren’t well.”

  “And their symptoms?” They aren’t well meant that they were getting close to the time when they were no longer necessary to Petrov.

  “The same as the last few weeks… it seems to be spreading.” Shit.

  “Hmm.” I said, pretending to think out loud, buying some time while I figured out what to do with them. “Continue to train Maya with the schedule and I’ll see what I can do, if it’s a red line I’ll let you know.”

  “It’s day two.” Jac said in a tight voice. “A red line would—”

  “I’ll let you know,” I snapped, slamming the door behind me, a red line meant I would eliminate the threat before Petrov did. He didn’t allow women of their trade to die with dignity. I did.

  The Pier Killer is still at large. Another unidentified body was found. Law enforcement has no comment on the victim.—The Seattle Tribune

  JAC’S FACE LOOKED PAINED BEFORE SHE made a cross over her chest then turned to face me. Forcing a smile, she clasped her hands together. “So! Let’s just pick up where we left off last night, shall we?”

  “Er, okay.” I scooted my chair to the side so she could sit next to me.

  For an hour she explained the rest of the schedule, how to answer the phone when it did ring, and of course never to ask questions. I was to be the brains of an operation I knew nothing about—and that’s how it was supposed to stay.

  I was about to ask her if I was ever allowed to kno
w what actually went on when Nikolai burst through the door, his eyes dark with dread. “Jac! A word.”

  She patted my hand and stood, then followed Nikolai down the hall.

  I was too curious to stay planted in my seat. Slowly, I inched my chair back and made my way toward the door.

  Nikolai was shouting.

  Jac was shouting.

  But it wasn’t in English.

  It sounded—Russian—like when I overheard my father’s conversations with some of his men, but the dialect sounded off.

  Footsteps sounded so I ran back to my seat.

  Jac burst through the door and snatched her purse off the table. She took one last look at me, shook her head, and left.

  What had just happened?

  I was afraid to go to Nikolai. By the sound of his voice he wasn’t happy and he’d just totally lost his indifferent composure and screamed at Jac.

  I wrung my hands together and stared at the clock. This was ridiculous. If he needed help he’d ask for help, right?

  Wasn’t it my job to assist?

  I checked the schedule; the two girls Jac had mentioned were the only names listed for the evening.

  My cell hadn’t gone off.

  No texts.

  Finally, I pushed away from my desk and stood. If he fired me over asking if he needed help then… at least I’d have Netflix, right?

  Jokes. I needed to make jokes about my situation as I slowly walked down the hall.

  Because if I really thought about it, I was terrified—more than terrified—that one day, I’d be like the girls checking in at the office. Obsessed with the man in the doctor coat, only to one day, simply cease to exist. All because I fell for the danger.

  And he was that… dangerous.

  Every cell in my body was lit up like Christmas as I reached for the metal handle of the door and pushed it open, only to find the first room empty, the one he was usually in.

  Backing up, I frowned, then I went to the next room.

  It was empty as well.

  One room left.

  “Well, here goes nothing.”

  If the doctor cures, the sun sees it; but if he kills, the earth hides it. –Russian Proverb